


just for a moment

by chiarascura



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:10:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,765
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8133247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiarascura/pseuds/chiarascura
Summary: Briala and 'Manehn meet for for a moment at the Divine's Coronation





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavellot (brialavellan)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brialavellan/gifts).



> for lavellot, I hope you like it!! I tried to write 'Manehn the best I could, but if there's anything I missed or messed up let me know and I'll fix it :)
> 
> thank you to rachel4revenge, earlgreyer and ashembie for your cheerleading and support as I floundered writing this <3 you are all the best

Fuck Orlais.  
  
No, really. Fuck Orlais. ‘Manehn wouldn’t even be here if she hadn’t been asked specifically to attend. Sure, she can charm the nobility and twist them around her finger, and they are so lucky she doesn’t stab each and every one when they call her _rabbit_. But, she still hates it. Every time she’s here, she counts the minutes until she can leave. Especially today, when she has a _plan_.  
  
Her fingers clench around the champagne glass in her hand, and she takes a deep breath before it snaps and spills all over herself. The brittle smile on her face starts to burn, and she looks around for a way out of this inane conversation. Lord Shithead from Who Cares keeps talking over her, and ‘Manehn is over it.   
  
The ballroom is enormous, as everything in the Grand Cathedral is, built to impress and dazzle. The new Divine sits in her Sunburst Throne at the head table, and the nobility fawn over her like the sycophants they are. Cassandra’s stoic expression gives nothing away, and ‘Manehn knows she’ll enjoy hearing about what they say later tonight, when they talk over a bottle of Nevarran red.  
  
The familiar shape of Briala’s back catches her eye, and the smile on her face becomes less painful, less forced. She would recognize Briala from any distance, in any situation, just by her silhouette, and ‘Manehn could watch her play the Game all day. Her gold dress pops against her warm brown skin, silver mask tipped in gold, and her gestures express a disdain for her conversation partners, a polite but pointed put down that ‘Manehn wishes she could hear. She watches her hands, long fingered and brown and delicate, the tips painted a matching gold, and a thrill of anticipation rushes down her spine.  
  
This is what she’s been waiting for. “Excuse me, I have to… go.” ‘Manehn sees the Lord’s face crumple in confusion behind his mask, clearly defeated now that his time with the Inquisitor has ended, but she doesn’t care.   
  
‘Manehn leaves her glass on a table on her way across the ballroom, nodding and smiling at the lords and ladies bowing in her wake. The anticipation builds with every step she takes towards Briala, a tightness in her chest that’s familiar whenever she sees her love.  
  
“Marquise,” she says, and Briala’s face doesn’t change beneath her mask as she turns. Her shoulders are straight, her hair covered by a bronze scarf, her fingers tighten on her own champagne glass.   
  
“Inquisitor,” Briala replies with a dip of her head, and there is happy surprise in her voice. The lords and ladies gathered around the Marquise bow low to the Inquisitor’s appearance, and ‘Manehn ignores their fawning.  
  
“I have an urgent matter to speak to you about. Divine Victoria needs you immediately.” ‘Manehn manages to keep a straight face, although her toe tapping on the ground may give her away.   
  
“Does she? Well, we cannot keep her waiting, can we? Lead on.” Briala’s eyes never leave hers, but a tiny quirk appears at the corner of her lips.  
  
‘Manehn nods and starts towards the guest wing of the Grand Cathedral, where the important guests are quartered for the duration of the Divine’s Coronation.   
  
She hardly even makes it out of sight of the ballroom before she grabs Briala’s hand, lacing their fingers together and pulling her down a servant hallway into a darkened storeroom.   
  
They come together like magnets, and ‘Manehn couldn’t stay out of her arms for a moment longer without physical pain. Briala is warm and solid, and she tightens her arms to prove she’s real. Not a Fade dream, not a figment of her imagination, _here_ and _hers_.   
  
Since arriving at the Cathedral, ‘Manehn had been on display, paraded around as the Inquisitor supporting her friend the new Divine and shoring up support. She’d only seen Briala at a distance, making brief eye contact before Leliana or Vivienne whisked her away for a new introduction, and it had felt like a twist in her gut every time she left.  
  
Now, Briala was in her arms and ‘Manehn never wanted to let go. She presses her face into her shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent, like citrus and green outdoors and home, like everything Orlais wasn’t. Arms tighten around her own waist in response, and she commits the moment to memory.   
  
“ _Vhenan_ ,” ‘Manehn whispers, and Briala exhales.  
  
‘Manehn only releases her a few inches, pulls back until she can look into Briala’s face. The damned mask is still there, hiding her perfect face, and she cannot bear it any longer. She loosens her arms and hears a wounded noise at the separation, but ‘Manehn doesn’t move away. She pulls the mask from Briala’s face, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds. She wants to kiss every freckle across her nose, smooth away every line that has developed over the months they’ve been separated. Warmth suffuses her body and the open smile she receives makes her belly flutter like she’s falling from a great height.   
  
She cups Briala’s cheek in one hand, and watches her eyelids flutter as her thumb rubs across her cheek. She leans in, dragged like gravity, unable to resist the pull, and brushes their lips together. It’s like slipping into a warm bath; she is entirely wrapped up in Briala, in her scent and her feel and her presence, everything outside of them drops away, and nothing matters as much as the woman before her.   
  
Her fingers shift to the back of Briala’s neck, her thumb gliding against the sensitive skin behind her ear and her fingers sliding up into her hair, disrupting the scarf. She wants to pull it off, to run her hands over Briala’s hair, and she succumbs to the urge. Briala moans into her mouth, likely in small protest, but her fingers clench into the back of ‘Manehn’s coat and drags her closer.   
  
After long minutes, Briala pulls away. Her eyes are closed, lips dewy and slightly parted, and ‘Manehn can’t resist leaning in for another kiss, and another, before she truly pulls away.  
  
“‘Manehn,” she breathes, and she wants nothing more than to hear her name on Briala’s lips again and again. “We have to go back, they’re missing us by now.” Her voice is hoarse after their kisses, and ‘Manehn feels a stab of pride at the evidence of her own effect on her.   
  
‘Manehn groans, and presses a kiss to the soft brown skin of her neck. The little noise she receives and the way her neck tilts is too much for her to resist, so she does it again, and again. She can’t get enough of Briala, especially knowing their parting will be for even longer this time.   
  
Briala sighs, and ‘Manehn feels her fingers trace the bare skin of her face. “Tonight, love,” Briala says. She bends to retrieve her fallen scarf and mask, movements slow and reluctant.   
  
“Before you go,” she says, and rummages around in her tiny pockets, overfull with necessities she couldn’t leave. Fancy clothes are and have always been useless, and she still hates Orlesian formalwear. Why can’t they just add functional pockets?   
  
She hides the small wooden box in her hands for a moment, nerves rising in her belly. “I have something for you.” She traces the carved curls decorating the sides with a rough fingertip, before looking up into Briala’s inquisitive face. Her beautiful brown eyes are dilated, glimmering with the low light from the hallway, and ‘Manehn could drown in them.  
  
She holds the box out in the center of her palm, and Briala looks at it for a long, excruciating moment.  
  
“What…” she starts, before plucking it delicately from ‘Manehn’s hand. “Is this…”   
  
‘Manehn fights the urge to shift her weight on the balls of her feet, trying to remain calm as she opens the box.   
  
She stares at it, and like a true Orlesian player, her face remains infuriatingly passive.   
  
‘Manehn can’t stay quiet. “It’s sylvanwood. My clan carved them, as special favors. It’s for—” Briala’s throat works as she swallows, and the bottom of her belly drops out. Maybe she doesn’t like it. ‘Manehn knows she loves her, but maybe that’s not enough. “It’s a promise.”  
  
“It’s wonderful,” Briala whispers, and she slips the ring onto her third finger. “For me?” When she looks up to meet her eyes, they’re soft and wet, and relief floods through ‘Manehn’s body.  
  
“Of course it’s for you, _ma_ _vhenan_.” Briala throws herself into her arms, and they kiss again for long moments.   
  
Briala pulls away suddenly, leaving ‘Manehn off-balance. “I have something for you too.” Her words are rushed and excited, and she darts out of the store room pulling ‘Manehn in her wake.  
  
Briala leads them through the back corridors of the Grand Cathedral to a flight of stairs leading down. The passage is old and decrepit, likely an escape route for times of panic, and the maze eventually opens up to Briala’s apartments in the Imperial Palace. They continue through labyrinthine hallways and staircases until ‘Manehn is entirely turned around, never having seen this section of the palace, but Briala seems to know it well enough. She only releases her hand when she has to dig through a large ring full of clinking keys, entering a darkened library.   
  
A large mirror stands at the end of the narrow room, only reflecting the few candles Briala lights at the entrance.   
  
Briala’s eyes are bright and excited, and the way she twists the new ring on her finger sends a bloom of excitement through ‘Manehn.   
  
“Is this an eluvian?”   
  
Briala nods. “You have one too, in Skyhold, yes?”  
  
‘Manehn blinks. “We do. How did you get this one?”   
  
“I’ll tell you later. For now,” she says as she walks over to the darkened mirror, “let me show you.” She faces the mirror, only an inch from the glass, and whispers something into it. It bursts into light, ripples of magic across the surface like the sea under bright sun, and it’s suddenly active. ‘Manehn gasps and Briala smiles wide.   
  
“Yes, my love,” Briala confirms. “Now we can meet whenever we want.”  
  
‘Manehn leaps across the room onto Briala, who stumbles with the added weight with a grunt. ‘Manehn presses kisses across her face, unable to contain herself.   
  
“I’ll have to move it into my bedroom,” ‘Manehn says between kisses, and Briala’s giggle lights up every nerve in her body.   
  
Maybe Orlais isn’t so terrible, if it made a woman like Briala.


End file.
